


Support

by Uniasus



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-17 14:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: Ellie has less than a year left until she can get divorced from Joe based on abandonment. And then he sends money for Tom's 16th birthday.





	1. Unwanted

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is a fun mix of britspeak and usaspeak. Just go with it.  
2) How does abandonment work? I don't actually know. Go with it.  
3) A huge, huge thanks to the Broadchurch Tumblr community. I didn't expect sharing a snippet of this WIP would result in the engagement that it did or it'd leave a handful of people asking for more. Thanks to you, this thing grew and grew. You all made me eager to write.

"Got your post," Beth Latimer says, pushing open the front door.

Ellie Miller peeks around the corner to see her friend enter the house, birthday cake balanced between her hands, envelops on top, and Lizzie clinging to her leg.

"Thanks, Beth. For the mail and picking up the cake."

"Of course. Also, when was the last time you got the post?" Beth follows Ellie into the kitchen.

"It's Tom's chore," Ellie answers, returning to the task of chopping onions, "I'm not sure he gets it every day, and I'm often too tired to think of it when returning home."

"Must be three days here," Beth shakes her head. "Boys."

It sends a pinch through Ellie's heart, the way Beth says that. Beth hasn't had a son for years. The younger woman keeps a straight face though. Five years can close the wound, though she expected today to be hard on her friend.

"Aye," Ellie softly says.

"What do you want me to do?" Beth says after setting Lizzie at the dining room table with crayons and a coloring book.

"If you don't mind cooking the rice."

"Of course not."

The two women set to work, chatting about the meal and the upcoming party – Tom's sixteenth. He has a few days yet before his actual birthday, but the big do is planned for later that afternoon. It's supposed to be a milestone, Ellie thinks, sixteen, but Tom had simply shrugged off Ellie's insistence on its importance.

"Sixteen is just a number, mum."

"You can get a job now."

"Do I need to?"

"No," Ellie had shaken her head vigorously. "No, you don't need to do that." She'd supported the family for years with her single salary, though Tom and later Ellie's father had stepped up to take care of the household duties with Joe's departure. There was no reason for Tom to take up more responsibility.

"Lizzie, don't do that."

Ellie snaps her attention to Beth and her daughter. The four-year-old had traded her coloring book for Ellie's post, scribbling on white envelopes.

"This isn't something to color on," Beth insists, pulling the mail free. Lizzie frowns but is easily distracted by a finger tap on a fresh page in her Disney coloring book. Beth, on the other hand, is intrigued by an envelope in her hand.

"What is it?" Ellie asks, wiping her hands and walking over.

"Oh, sorry. Shouldn't pry. It's just, there's no return address."

"No?"

Ellie silently asks for the envelope and Beth places it in her hand. Flipping it over a few times, Ellie can see it's normal shaped but in addition to having no return address, her own had been typed, not written. She frowns before deciding to open it.

Inside is a check for a few hundred pounds and a typed note: **Tell him happy 16th from me**.

"Fuck," Ellie says.

"Ellie!"

She casts a look at Lizzie, who ignores her in favor of coloring Moana green. "Sorry, Beth. It's just… it's from _him."_

There's no name anywhere, but who else could have sent the money other than Joe. Joe, her husband. Joe, the man who murdered Beth's son. Joe, the man the town had exiled to Scotland and told to never contact anyone in Broachchurch again.

Beth goes still. "What is it?"

"A check. For a birthday present."

"You don't have to use it."

"That's not the point," Ellie hisses. "If he had just waited another year. Fuuuudge," she prevents herself from swearing in time.

She steps away from the table, back into the kitchen, and Beth follows. "We're not properly divorced," Ellie reminds Beth after a deep breath. "It didn't cross my mind, after the trail, I just wanted him _gone_. And after, only Paul know where he went and I didn't want to ask for his address to send the papers. So I talked to Jocelyn, and she said if I wait long enough I can file for divorce based on abandonment."

Ellie slaps Joe's letter on the counter. "I need to wait six years before I could do that. Another eleven months. But if he's sending money, I can't claim it." She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her heart. "Why now, why send money _now?"_

Beth doesn't answer. She sets about making tea, filling the kettle and lighting the stove underneath it. "Give me the letter," she demands Ellie.

Wordlessly, she hands it over.

In a flash, Beth puts the paper in the fire. Ellie shouts, but Beth just holds the letter steady as flames creep toward her fingers.

"Dowse it, Beth!"

With a wince, Beth drops the paper. It sits on the stovetop, burning until the flames run out of fuel and all that's left is a small pile of ash.

"He never sent you anything," Beth insists, sweeping the ashes into her hand. She marches through the front door and into the road, throws the ash into the air for the sea breeze to catch. Part of it blows backwards, clinging to Beth and Ellie's hair, but most is carried into the park.

"He never sent you anything," Beth says again, looking Ellie in the eye.

Ellie nods. "I've had no contact from my husband."

Pleased, Beth pulls Ellie into a hug. "He's destroyed our lives enough. He needs to let go, let us move on."

Ellie melts into the embrace. She wants to cry, but the guests will be coming in an hour. A dozen teens she'll have to supervise and manage. "Make me a cuppa, Beth. Then you and Lizzie can help blow up balloons."

Together, the women walk back into the house.

* * *

"Something's happened," Alec Hardy says when he corners Ellie later. Daisy might be two years older than Tom, but the teens get along better than their parents. She'd come over for the party, father in tow.

"What makes you say that?" Ellie asks. She tries to step around her boss, she needs to find the candles, but he shifts his weight to block her.

"You keep asking people to label the presents."

"We need to know who to send thank-you cards to."

"You didn't insist last year."

"Well, I want to make sure every present is claimed."

Hardy narrows his eyes, and Ellie internally winces. He's a better detective than she is, and attuned to her moods and mindset after years of working cases together.

"Are you expecting one to not be?"

Beth walks into the kitchen, asking if the cake is ready. She pauses when she sees the two of them, and Ellie is suddenly aware of how close Hardy is standing. He must too, for he hastily steps back.

"Tomorrow," Ellie tells him. She would have brought up eventually anyway, but now she'll have to. "At the station."

"I'll expect a full report."

She rolls her eyes. Detective work is ingrained in him, a side effect of it being his focus for so long. She has nothing to 'report', not really, though she'll have to be careful what she says. Destroying Joe's letter could have consequences if discovered. An action designed to keep a father away from his children, when he had all the right to have access to them.

Legally, Joe was their father and she had no grounds on which to prevent him from walking back into their lives. He'd been found not guilty.

"Yes, sir," she says, exasperated.

He frowns in response, but steps back and out into the garden. Beth pulls the cover off the cake and she and Ellie start sticking in seventeen candles – sixteen years and one for good luck.

"You gonna tell him?" Beth asks.

"I wasn't planning on it so soon, but yeah. No reason not too, and if I don't he'll treat it as a case. Watching me and asking questions."

Beth smiles. "It's his way of showing he cares, you know."

"Well, it's bloody annoying, that's what it is."

* * *

The next morning at work, as Ellie pulls off her purse, she can feel Hardy's eyes on her. Sighing, she walks into his office and closes the door.

"You going to tell me what happened yesterday?"

She wishes she made tea. Then she could stare at it instead of him.

Ellie flicks her gaze to the rest of the office. Hardy's blinds are down but open, however no one is paying attention to the two of them. It's common for them to sit in here, talking about a case. Sighing, Ellie looks at her boss, and, if she was pressed to admit it, sometimes friend.

"I got a letter from Joe. A check."

"What'd you do with it?"

"Burned it."

"I'd say he owes you a lot of money for the pain he put you through. You could have used it to do your hair."

She frowns at him. Does he think she needs it done? After a moment, Ellie shakes her head. "Can't file for abandonment if he sends money."

"Ah." He leans back in his chair. "My divorce was messy, but at least we went through it."

"Yes, well, trying to avoid contact with him."

"Think he'll send more?" Hardy asks.

"I don't know. It was for a birthday gift for Tom."

"Sixteen is a big year."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a moment. They'd help each other in a heartbeat, but there's nothing to do here. Ellie's already done it, and further action might not be needed. Still, she's glad she told him. Ellie can't hide things from Hardy, not after he's witnessed the tragedies of her life. Plus, he's good at helping her direct her emotions.

And if he's not as forthcoming about his own secrets? Well. To quote Beth from yesterday, "boys."

* * *

Two months later, there's another letter with her address typed on it and no return label. Trembling, she takes it with her over the Latimers'.

They're both home, Mark in the kitchen while Beth answers the door. She takes one look at Ellie, the white envelope in her hands and her stiff lip, and just knows.

"Do you need me to burn it?"

"You can't. Burning one letter can be blamed on the post service, but for them to misplace two? Besides," she flips the envelope over. There's a tracking number. Joe will know exactly what day it was delivered.

"Shit," Beth whispers. "What are you going do?"

"I don't know," Ellie says, "but I just, I had to tell someone. I, I can't, I can't-"

By "I can't", she really means "I can't stop". Can't stop thinking about Joe taking the boys from her. About taking _her._ Showing up Broadchurch, knocking on the door. Can't stop thinking about Joe's confession, how he choked the life out of Danny Latimer. How Joe had never truly loved her, had he? Not if he really liked boys, but hadn't known it.

She questions their entire marriage now. Every day he had spent with the boys. She wants the thoughts gone.

"I've got wine," Beth says, reading her mind and pulling her inside.

At least Joe hadn't destroyed this relationship, Ellie thinks. She didn't know where she'd be without Beth some days.

* * *

Hardy looks up when Ellie places the letter on his desk. "What's this?"

"Another check from Joe."

He stares at it with interest. "You sure? It's unopened."

"No return address, typed label. Just like the other one. Only this one has tracking." She flips it so he can see.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But I wanted to run something by you."

He leans forward on his desk. "I'm listening."

"Should we tell the uniforms to keep an eye out?"

"You think he'd show up in Broadchurch?"

Ellie thinks back to the day they forced him out of town. Hardy knows the details, she’d told him a few years later after his return. Joe had looked devastated, but not at his guilt. At the loss of Broadchurch, and the loss of his family. Paul had mentioned, once, he thought a driving force for Joe's switch to a not-guilty plea was the desire for things to go back to normal. And normal to Joe was playing house husband to Ellie’s breadwinner status.

Maybe she relies too much on the town’s anger to keep him away. Overestimates the threat of Mark, and Nige, and the other men in town. After all, Mark had confessed to going to see Joe and being unable to do anything but listen to him talk.

It is quite possible that now, whatever had held Joe back, has evaporated.

She shivers.

“Miller?”

She hates how soft Hardy’s voice is. She also hates the idea of becoming another Claire, utterly dependent on Hardy for protection, and terrified at what her husband might do to her. Joe, for all that he tore apart her life, is not the most violent man she’s faced. She still vows to change the locks, again, on the house and make sure all the windows latch.

"I’m fine,” she smiles at Hardy, who frowns back at her. “No need to get the uniforms involved, but do you think we could reverse track this?” Ellie taps the unopened envelope. “I’d like to send him divorce papers.”

* * *

The check gets tracked back only as far as the post office that mailed it and the staff can't recall who paid for it as it had been a cash transaction. It drives Ellie mad.

She supposes, in her own way, waiting to file for divorce based on abandonment had been a healing balm. It had prevented her from the divorce process, from interacting with Joe, from having to argue about custody and ownership of the house and their shared bank accounts. Not dealing with Joe had been her goal for the first year, and after that she'd done it in small increments. Sometimes with Beth, sometimes with her parents. Most often in the small moments she got with Tom and Fred, which mean she had to work through them quickly and get over the emotions before they made a mess or did something stupid.

Now, sitting at her dining room table late at night staring at the third sent check, she realizes those five years had been fate giving her a break. If they were going to do this right, if _she_ were going to do this right and get a divorce through the courts, she'd need to support it like any other case. Support it, and fight for what she wants to keep.

They are, in order, custody of her children, no visitation for Joe, the house. She wonders, taking a sip of her tea, if Joe might ask for spousal support. She'd always made the money, but since he had sent some to her it could be argued he didn't need it.

Ellie treats it as a thought exercise, building a case for a divorce. What does she need to show that Joe shouldn't get custody? Visitation? In the eyes of the Crown, there's no reason why he shouldn't move right back in.

_Therapist,_ she thinks, _all those sessions._ Two years of talking about Joe, about how he made her feel, made Tom feel. If feeling threatened by someone could result in a restraining order, it had to be grounds for a divorce.

"Ellie?"

She looks up from her tea to see her father shuffle into the room. Slowly, easy on his knees, he sits down across from her. "What are you doing, love?"

"Making bricks."

"To throw through windows?"

Ellie smiles. "I'd be a shit detective if I went around vandalizing places."

Her father snorts before sobering. "If you need it, I have some money saved."

"Why would I need your money, Dad?"

He nods toward the envelope. "Court fees. I don't want him anywhere near you or the boys."

"Save your money," Ellie mumbles into her tea. She'd let it go lukewarm as she sat there pondering.

"I mean it, Ellie. I want you all safe."

"We will be."

* * *

Jocelyn only advises these days, her eyesight finally preventing her from doing her job as efficiently as she wants. She helps Ellie come up with a plan.

"I know _we _know these checks are from Joe, but he's not signed them 'Joe'. He's using a new name, Steven Laborer. Saying it's Joe who sent these is speculation, filing for divorce based on abandonment might still be on the table."

"You don't think the note with the first one means it's reasonable to assume Joe sent it?"

"What note?"

Ellie holds her gaze. This isn't a game she's played before – destroying evidence, lying – but she'll do it if she needs to. If Jocelyn thinks it's her best option. The letter Beth burns doesn't have to come up at all.

The idea of it isn't as attractive as it had been five years previously. Now that Ellie's committed to getting her divorce, she wants it done as fast as possible. There's no overlooking the facts though. "Steve" is sending money through the bank, there's no address on the checks, the post system can't help, and the bank only will if they make an official inquiry through the station. Which can't be done without connecting the money to a crime.

Ellie wants this done clean. No procedural error that could draw out the process or make the divorce not happen. She doesn't want to drag Danny's death through town a third time if the divorce goes to court.

She'll wait and build the case for abandonment.

* * *

"Here." Ellie automatically takes the bundle of chips Hardy gives her, then frowns.

"What's this for?"

"It's been a week since you tried to feed me."

"So now you're trying to feed me so I can go on doing it?"

"Just eat it, Miller."

She complies, taking out a chip and nibbling at it. Normally, she loves the combo of grease and salt, but it sits painfully in her stomach, a growing ball of non-want. Ellie forces herself to eat more than she wants to. Hardy never gets her things, and the fact that he has means she's ringing his alarm bells.

"Is it Joe?" he asks softly as they walk down the boardwalk.

"The waiting," she answers. "Eight months now, till I can get divorced. I want it to go fast, but it's not. I want to be rid of him."

"You will."

Ellie shakes her head. "I know, but I want it done now." She wants to ask about his own divorce but knows it's not the same. Hardy had dug his heels in initially until Tess told him her night of infidelity hadn't been a mistake or a one-time thing. Ellie wants to jump in feet first.

"I want to hunt him down," she says, turning north. Turning toward Joe. "I want him to sign the bloody papers. I want to change my name. But it won't go quick, if I do that. He'll push back. And it means I'll have to look him in the eyes."

Her shoulders sag. She contemplates throwing away the chips. Hardy would yell at her. Now that she thinks about it, she hadn't paused for lunch all week, stomach too knotty.

"I can do it for you," Hardy offers.

Ellie looks at him. There's an earnestness in his gaze she doesn't often see. It only comes out when he's telling victims, or victim families, he'll get justice. She doesn't like it. She's not a victim.

"Let check the CCTV. We have a hit-n-run to solve, remember."

"Aye."

And that's that. If anyone knows how to dive into work to keep the churn of personal emotions away, it's Alec Hardy.

* * *

When Ellie gets the call she's surprised at how it relaxes her, but she has been waiting months for Joe to do something more than send checks via a pseudonym. Knowing that something is here releases a tension she hadn't been holding on to for a while.

The call comes from Aaron Mayford of all people via the public police line. Apparently he does go fishing at night on occasion and last night he'd seen someone who might be Joe enter one of the mobile home rentals near shore.

"Think I can meet him?" He asks. Ellie hangs up her phone and throws it on her desk.

The noise, no surprise, catches Hardy's attention. He looks through the doorway of his office at her. She waves her hand at him, dismissing his concern. Then she picks up her phone and walks outside to call home.

Her father picks up on the second ring. "David Barret."

Ellie lets out her breath. "Is Fred home?"

"Yeah, but we've got a play date in an hour. Did you want to talk to him?"

"No. Yes. I mean," she makes a noise of frustration.

"Ellie?"

She looks around, making sure she's not overheard, before making her request. "Take Fred and go somewhere for a few days, yeah? "

"Joe's here, isn't he?" David immediately askes.

"Might be, yeah."

"What about Tom?"

Ellie frowns. Her eldest son is at school and she knows he's been studying hard for the maths exam his last period. "I'll see if he can stay with a friend the next few days. Tell the school he's sick, in case Joe goes looking." She can't text him Joe's in town, not if she wants to do this cleanly and still try for abandonment, but Ellie has talked to her son. He's less keen to have his father back than she is.

"And you?"

"I'll be fine."

"Ellie."

"I'll be fine. Everyone in this town has my back, you know that."

David sighs. "Be careful. I'll call when we're settled somewhere."

From there, Ellie makes several calls and texts. A fellow parent, who agrees to look after Tom for a few days. Tom, to tell him not to go home. The school, to keep an eye out for a suspicious man. Beth, to keep Mark from the house for a few days. Joclyen, on the off chance that now Joe is here means a shift in her advice.

When she turns around, debating as to whether to ask SOCO if they could access the CCTV for the mobile homes, she's surprised to see Hardy come out onto the balcony. What's more, he's holding two mugs of tea.

Wordlessly, she takes it.

Hardy leans on the door jab, blocking her way inside, and despite his demanding posture his face is full of nervousness. It reminds Ellie of the time he cornered her in a woman's bath, eager to help her feel better but not sure how. He's learned since then. Picked up on Ellie's own way of providing support and care.

The tea is infinity better than the fries he fed her a month ago.

He stares at her and she sips her tea without looking at him. While this time feels more charged than previous times they've been in this situation, Hardy's gaze more attentive than ever, they're at the same stalemate. Ellie is in some desperate need of emotional comfort, but Hardy's rubbish at providing it. In the past, she also never really wanted it from him, from her boss. But as she sips her tea, made as she likes it, Ellie thinks she doesn't mind, just a little, that Hardy is offering support in his own way.

She won't ask for anything more though. She doesn't want Hardy to whisk her away from a troublesome husband, stashing her in an isolated cottage. Ellie wants things _done_ and that means confrontation. She's not sure Hardy is the one to help her with that. Oh, he'd get in Joe's face alright, she thinks, but Hardy's the type to crank up the aggressiveness _and_ protectiveness when someone he's vowed to help is in a tough situation. She doesn't want Hardy in Joe's face, she wants _herself_ in Joe's face, and Hardy might not let her.

"Who called?" Hardy eventually asks.

"Aaron Mayford."

Hardy starts. Mayford wasn't well-liked by the station. He often toed the line between creepy and predator but hadn't done anything warranting an arrest.

"What did he want?"

Now that they're talking, that Ellie is looking at Hardy, she sees he hasn't touched his tea. The DI spent Ellie's entire silence simply looking at her. Cheeks pink, she turns her head again.

"Miller," Hardy presses, and there it is. That insistence that she tell him details about a case, to feed his need for knowledge. And also under it all, a touch of concern.

Ellie shakes her head. "He had a tip."

"About?"

"A potential break-in at one of the mobile homes by the beach."

"We'll send a uniform around."

"Sounds good."

"Unless you think we should check it out."

Ellie shakes her head. "No, I don't think it's worth our time."

"You sure?"

Hardy might be her boss, might be more used to hardness and asking pressing questions of witnesses, but Ellie's gone through her own trials. She's fielded personal inquiries since she was twelve, and that's what this really is.

"Yes." Ellie drains her tea. "Thanks for this, sir."

She makes to go inside, and Hardy pulls himself up to allow her to pass. They still brush bodies, her right shoulder and arm grazing his chest with a silken touch – smooth and cool from the Fall air.

"Any time, Miller," he says, falling into step behind her.

She's positive he means more than just giving her tea.

* * *

Ellie freezes when she inserts her key into the front door and turns. She'd met no resistance. Someone had unlocked it before her.

Gripping the knob tightly, she steps inside. Instantly she's assaulted by the smell of apple chicken. The dish used to be her favorite, Joe catering to her love of the fruit. Apple pie, apple cake, apples in various meals. At some point, the flavor stopped invoking childhood nostalgia and instead brought up the love Joe had for her. Until those memories went sour and apple treats made her stomach roll as much as rotten fish.

There are noises from the kitchen, a low bit of humming. Joe either doesn't care to stop cooking, or hadn't heard her enter.

Slowly, moving around the creaky floorboards, she walks down the front hall, turns the corner, and finally can peek into the kitchen.

It's Joe alright. He looks a little heavier but less muscular in the arms. Working, she assumes, ate into his gym time. What Joe doesn't look like is apologetic, haunted, or nervous.

He looks comfortable. Happy. Content. All things he shouldn't be because it took Ellie years of therapy to get that way again. And here her bastard, murdering husband is looking like he never left.

He's even wearing an old, familiar jumper.

Ellie's glad the kids aren't here.

"What are you doing here, Joe?" she snaps.

His head jerks up. He stares at her in surprise before his face softens. It's the look of a man in love, with a gentle heart and pleased as punch just to see her. In the past, Ellie returned the look. Now, it makes her stomach shrivel and her adrenaline spike.

"Ellie, I thought I'd make dinner. See the kids. It's been five years."

"We don't want you here."

"Ellie, we're married. We love each other. We have kids. Can't we go back to being a family? Can't we put this behind us?"

"Danny is permanently dead, Joe. There's no going back from that. And you gave him gifts, like a mistress."

"He was just a kid, we never-"

"If you did that with a woman, it'd be an affair."

"I would never do that to you, Ellie."

She crosses her arms and glares at him. It's true, adultry was not his crime. But it could have been, eventually. If Danny had been older than eleven, would Joe had asked for more than a hug? Would he ask for a kiss at fourteen, a strip at fifteen, a touch at sixteen? Or would Joe had moved on, picked someone younger?

She'd debated with her therapist, gone to groups, read the books, trying and trying to understand her husband. Why he did what he did. The nearest she'd gotten before her therapist made her realize that her inability to understand meant she wasn't like him and that was a good thing, was that Joe was at heart a pedophile but had too strong a moral code to actually do something against the law.

It gives him a partial good core, which Ellie likes to claim was the part she had loved before it got swallowed up.

"Where are Tom and Fred?" Joe asks after a stretch of silence.

"Not here."

"Who's living in the guest room?"

"A renter." She hopes the thought of them being interrupted makes Joe leave.

"Not David?"

Enough is enough. She can't stand here and stare at Joe, it makes her stomach knot. Things are over between them, over in any way that matters, and the sooner the last tie is snipped the sooner she can live a free life.

"If you do something for me, I won't tell Mark you're in town."

"Mark wouldn't hurt me. He doesn't have the courage."

"Like you don't have the courage to off yourself? You should've. By god, you should've, Joe. Because all I want to do right now it bloody kill you for what you did, and not just killing your best friend's kid!"

Ellie storms across the room. There's only the kitchen island between her and Joe now, the smell of apples strong enough she wants to gag but she girds her stomach.

"You ripped the Latimers apart, you ripped us apart, and you choked the life out of Danny. I have watched Beth fall to pieces, witnessed Mark recover from a suicide attempt. Tom destroyed your photos, ripped them to pieces, and he avoids children worried he'll do what you did. He wouldn't go near Fred for a _full year!"_

If feels good, to yell at Joe. She's had fantasies about this. Letting all the vitriol that built inside out, putting him in his place, thinking that if he doesn't regret murder maybe he can at least regret the fallout. She thinks maybe he does, hence the checks and the dinner. But she doesn't want to kiss and make up, as Joe seems to. She wants to take his hope for a happy, normal marriage and slam dunk it in the bin because that's exactly what he did to her.

Revenge isn't pretty, but it's something she wants regardless. And she'll get it.

Turning on her heel, she marches upstairs. There's the frantic click of the cooktop being turned off, and then Joe's heavy steps behind her. It makes her move faster.

"Ellie, Ellie," he calls after her.

She keeps going until she walks into her bedroom. _Hers, _not _theirs,_ because obviously he put as much effort into it as their marriage in its last six months.

"You painted-" Joe says, but Ellie's not really listening to him. On the other side of the room is a desk, and on top of that a manila folder, and inside that...inside _that_ is what will truly make all of this end. Her guilt over Danny, her self-disgust at not seeing what was happening, the feeling that she failed as a wife, dedicated, _gave_ herself to the wrong person because of bad judgment.

Divorce wouldn't erase everything, she knows. But it'd help. A lot.

She tosses the manila folder on the bed between her and Joe. "It's divorce papers. You're signing them."

Joe's gaze flickers from her, to the packet, and back to her. "No."

"Yes you bloody are!"

"I'm a good husband, Ellie."

"You're a murderer," she snarls the answer, teeth bared, but Joe just shakes his head.

"I can get past that –"

"Well, I can't, and Danny's not the only reason why I'm divorcing you."

That is the only thing that gives Joe a serious pause. "You found someone else."

"I bloody well did not! I'm divorcing you, Joe, because I don't like _you._ You, not me ended his marriage."

"And I can fix it-"

"How, Joe, how are you going to fix it? With dinner? Taking care of the kids? Fred doesn't even remember he had a father, and Tom tries to forget you all the time. Are you going to buy them gifts? New cell phones? Rolls of cash?"

"We're family!" Joe shouts back. "All I've wanted is to be with you all again, that's why I pled not guilty."

Ellie laughs. "You what, thought the Crown would find you not guilty and you could come home?"

"Yes."

Ellie shakes her head. Like that could happen. She'd read his confessions, and while she regrets attacking him in the interview room because it meant the confession got thrown out of court due to police brutality, she doesn't regret leaving those bruises.

"That was never, _never_ going to happen, Joe. Because _I_ know you're guilty. Plus, you went to a child, _a child_, for hugs and fell in love with him. Did you even love me, Joe? Or was I just a front? You couldn't give in to your wants, so you hid behind me?"

"No. That's not-"

"It certainly feels that way! Why else would you do it? Thank God you never did any of that stuff with Tom, but I won't let you near him. And after tonight, you won't be near me either. Sign the bloody divorce papers!" She jabs at the envelope.

Joe ignores them to circle the bed, and Ellie suddenly realizes she's trapped. The door is on the other side, behind Joe, and even if Joe had been slacking in his fitness routine and Ellie had kept with hers, she questions if she could get around him. Joe is taller. Joe is heavier.

She regrets not telling Hardy a thing earlier today.

"We were happy, Ellie. Let's go back to that." Joe's moving softly, gently, like she's a stray dog in need of feeding. She's having none of it.

"Were, Joe. Past tense. Until you did two things I never thought you could, kill a child and fall in love with someone else. We're done." She reaches for her phone. It's not too late, she can call Hardy. Brian. Anyone from the station.

"What are you doing?" Joe asks, and now _he_ sounds threatened and isn't that funny.

"Making a call."

Joe lunges for the phone, knocking it out of Ellie's hand. It lands on the bed with a soft _whump_.

"Why are you doing that, Ellie? We can work this out. You, me. Maybe David. We can figure out how to be a family, be happy. What about a vacation? We can go back to Florida. We had a good time, yeah? I have a job, I can help pay."

Ellie can see it in Joe's eyes, he is desperate. This is honestly what he wants, to return to where they were five years ago. Why, she won't waste the time guessing, but Joe's taped confession comes back to her. It's more chilling than his signed statement, those always sound dry. But audio…

Joe had wanted the same thing too, hadn't he, from Danny. For the status quo of his life to stay the same. Hugging Danny, loving Ellie, feeding Tom and Fred. All he'd wanted to do, in that detached mindset he reported in, was make Danny not tell. He just wanted Danny to _listen_ and _do what he wanted _and while he shouted his demands his hands had been around Danny's throat until he stopped breathing.

_You're Danny,_ Ellie's mind screams, _You're Danny, You're Danny, You're Danny._

She lunges, not for Joe, but for the bed. For her phone. It's hard to do, he's got on hand on her wrist, but she manages to get her hand around it.

"We can work this out," Joe repeats. "Ellie, please, just listen. We can have it all."

Still clutching her phone, she slams her free hand into the side of Joe's head. "Let me go, Joe!"

It doesn't daze him as she expected. Instead, he captures her other wrist, holds them both in front of Ellie as effectively as handcuffs. "Be reasonable."

"Signing the papers is a nice way to end this, Joe. It's a simple divorce. You get all your assents back. Sign it, and I won't show Hardy my bruises tomorrow, I won't divorce you due to abuse."

"Ellie, no. No, don't do that." He releases her wrists to cup her face between his hands.

Ellie flinches at the touch, how did she ever think him gentle, and tries to look at her phone without actually looking at it. Her fingerprint will unlock it, but she needs to get to the phone app, call Hardy.

"We're getting a divorce, Joe. One way or another, you will leave my life, this time for good, and I'll be _glad_ for it."

"You don't mean that."

He steps forward, Ellie steps back. A flick down gives her the chance to navigate toward recent calls.

"I do mean that. I, we, you…we can't go back." She presses the phone symbol under Hardy's name. The sudden ringing through the speakers makes both of them jump.

"What are you doing?" Joe asks. He's panicked, eyes wide, face white.

Ellie drops her phone and kicks it under the bed. Hopefully Hardy picks up. Hopefully he can hear, understand. She raises her voice.

"Calling the police."

"Why?" he sounds betrayed, and isn't that something. Worse, his fingernails are starting to dig into Ellie's cheeks.

"Let go of me, Joe."

"I can't, you're my wife. We made vows-"

"You're hurting me! Let go!" She tries to reel backward, but she forgot where they were in the room. Her head hits the sloped ceiling and her vision swims.

"Ellie! I didn't, I didn't,"

"We're getting divorced, Joe. Sign the papers now or later, but it's happening."

"No, no, no."

His hands are still on her face. She pulls them off, flinging them away from her body. He places them on her shoulders. She brushes them off, tripping on the rug as she tries to get around him at the same time.

She doesn't know if Joe reaches out to catch her or push her. All she knows is he says "We're not getting divorced" just as a hand on her side changes the direction of her fall. Her head hits the side of the hope chest at the end of the bed.

_You're Danny,_ she tells herself again before everything explodes in pain followed swiftly by darkness.

Joe Miller takes one look at his wife's still form, sprawled at his feet, cries "Oh God," and flees.


	2. Offered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec's night with Daisy is interrupted when he gets a phone call from Ellie and hears "stop hurting me Joe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know British English has a weird thing with using an article with the word hospital, so not sure if I did that right, but I tried guys, okay?

There's not many of these nights left, Alec knows. Couch cuddles with Daisy, though neither of them would call it such. In a few months, she'll be off to university, studying to be a barrister. She likes to joke that one day, she and he would put away criminals together. Alec cherishes the idea.

Still, when his phone rings with Miller's ring tone, he picks up immediately.

She might be able to hide it from the detective constables, but something had spooked her today. He'll bet three hundred quid it was Joe. Another letter, or maybe he'd escalated to a package. He doesn't expect to hear what he does.

_Let go of me, Joe._

He sits up straight, snaps his fingers for Daisy's phone, and she quickly complies. The station's preprogrammed in her contracts. Alec calls, ringing in one ear and the argument at the Millers' in the other.

He doesn't let the answering officer finish her greeting before Alec snaps orders. "This is DI Hardy, send a car to DS Miller's house. Fast. Joe Miller's there."

He hangs up, already standing, already preparing to run across town.

"Go," Daisy says, "I won't leave home."

He gives her a grateful nod before sprinting out the door and flagging the first taxi he finds.

Alec keeps his phone pressed to his ear. There hasn't been anything new, not since he called the office, but he white-knuckles it anyway. The silence stretches on and on. If Miller were okay, she'd have picked up by now. Would have scrambled for her phone, to talk to him, call the station, something. At least the phone's still connected.

"Faster," he hisses at the cabbie. He complies.

It's maybe fifteen minutes until he gets to her house and in that time Miller could have died fifteen times. When the cab pulls up to Miller's, Alec's out before it comes to a complete stop. His mind processes the wide-open front door before he rushes into the house, yelling. "Miller! Miller, answer me!"

He can just make out his own voice echoing in his own ear. Miller's phone, at least, is still in the house. He hangs up the call and starts searching. There's a half prepared dinner in the kitchen, but no sign of a struggle. No sign of Joe either. The less he finds, the tenser Alec becomes. He wants evidence Miller fought back, that she had a chance.

A clatter from the front door has Alec whirling around, expecting Joe, but it’s two uniforms from the station. “Start canvassing the area,” he tells them. “Someone broke into DI Miller’s house and attacked her.” It was Joe, he knows it was, but he has to be careful. Gather evidence, prove it without a doubt, don’t give the opposition a chance to poke holes. There’s no _proof _Joe was here, just a logical conclusion. They need proof.

“Where’s DS Miller?” one of them asks.

“Just look for evidence that can point towards who was here, and get statements from the neighbors.”

He shoos them out with a wave and continues his search for Miller. He jogs up the stairs, calling her name. There are only two doors open on the second story, a wash closet and -

When Alec spots her, his heart freezes and the rest of his body does too. She sprawled on the floor near the foot of her bed, lying on her front with one hand stretched out. There are blood trails flowing from her temple down her face and starting to pool under her head, smaller scratches on her face. The hand nearest him shows off her wrist, halfway to an ugly purple. A second head wound has left blood on her collar.

This is more violent than Danny.

"Oh God," Alec collapses to his knees beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck and a palm in front of her mouth. He feels her breath before he feels her heartbeat.

"Oh thank fuck," he says. He wants to bury his face in her shoulder, cry from sheer relief, but he knows it immature. Two bleeding head wounds. A sprained wrist. There may be more. She might not actually be okay.

Leaving his hand in front of Ellie's mouth, matching his breathes to hers, he calls for an ambulance. Even as he waits for it to arrive, Alec looks around the room for clues. There's a packet of papers on the bed. There's a spot of blood on the corner of the hope chest. Another on the sloped ceiling. He can't see her phone.

There no noise from the house, Joe's gone. He needs to be found. He might go after Miller's sons. Mark Latimer might go after Joe. As a detective, Alec needs to think about Broadchurch, how to keep its people safe. How to capture a criminal. He can't get a grasp on how to do that, however. Not when he's so focused on counting Ellie's puffs of air on his hand.

His phone buzzes, a text from Daisy, _I texted Tom, he's at a friend's and said his grandpa took Fred out of town earlier today. Update me when you can._

He loves his daughter, doing her own sleuthing, and thanks the world for the coincidence Miller's kids won't be walking into the house.

Then his own brain kicks in. It's not a coincidence, it's _planned._ Miller had been on the balcony with her phone. She knew Joe was in town, _knew,_ and told no one.

"Stupid, Miller," Alec says to her still form. "Stupid. Did you think I couldn't help?"

His mind works backward, picking out the day. What had happened this morning? What tipped her off? Alec imagines her through the window of his office, seeing just the top half of her head as she stares at her computer monitor. The spooked look she had on the balcony, her hands around the mug he brought her like it was the only solid thing in the world. He'd noticed her walk out, noticed she got a call. Who did she say it was from?

_Aaron Mayford. _When Miller had told him, he assumed her uneasiness had to do with something Aaron had said. He tended to make most women uncomfortable, with one comment or another. They no longer let the younger inspectors and uniforms be near him alone, and the older women, like Miller, dealt with it in their own way. Miller liked to explain what she could do under the law; she made up good riot acts on the spot.

There was no way a comment by Aaron Mayford would have affected her that badly, but Miller had distracted him, hadn't she? Talked not about Mayford, but his tip and Alec had trusted Miller's gut on that. If she didn't think it was worth the time of a detective, then it wasn't.

Didn't mean it wasn't worth the time of a friend.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." He doesn't know who he's chastising now, Miller or himself. Because yes, Miller should have told someone who could help Joe was in town, even if it wasn't him. And Alec could have done a much better job at letting her know that person was him.

It had been something Tess complained about. Alec's lack of communication. How over time, she wasn't sure what Alec felt or liked because he didn't tell her. He'd focus on cases, talk about them at home. He'd never talk about his emotions. He bottled them up, his feelings about cases and people. Maybe if he talked to Tess more, about how much he loved her, she wouldn’t have fallen for someone else. Maybe if he talked to someone about the Gillespie case, the anxiety and guilt from it wouldn't have worsened his arrhythmia. Maybe if he talked to Miller, as a friend and not a colleague, she wouldn't be lying bleeding on her bedroom floor.

The sound of sirens cut through his thoughts. The ambulance finally arriving.

"Up here," he yells when the door opens. He tracks their progress through the house, feet the stairs and down the hallway. It's only when they walk into the bedroom does Alec stand up and away from Miller.

Alec watches as they turn Miller over. No other injuries appear, just rumpled clothes, but he suspects she's developing more than a few bruises. Gently, the paramedics put her on the rolling cot. One of them turns to Alec.

"Are you riding with us?"

The first word in his head is _yes._ But, well. That's not who they are, are they? Going would be supportive, friendly, and they still haven't learned how to do that yet. _Learn now,_ he thinks, _ride. Be there when she wakes._

He wants to, but he takes the path of least resistance and shakes his head no. He knows how to track down a criminal more than he knows how to hold an injured woman's hand.

"Take care of her," he commands as they load her in the ambulance.

"We will."

The door of the ambulance snaps close and Alec snaps open his phone.

“Sir?”

There’s the pair of uniforms from before behind him, notepads in hand.

“Find anything?”

“Evidence the front door was tampered with, but that’s it. The neighbors didn’t see anything, some aren’t even home from work.”

“Go to hospital,” he tells them. “One of you guard DS Miller’s room.” Joe probably won't go there, but Alec isn't taking chances.

“Is Miller alright?” one of them asks.

Alec doesn’t know and the lack of knowledge closes up his throat. He turns away without answering,

He calls the station, tells them to send SOCO to the house, dust the lock, the kitchen, check for shoe prints. He also tells them to send him Mayford's address. Then he texts Daisy, _Miller's hurt. On way to hospital. You can tell Tom, but tell him to stay put. We don't know where Joe is._ When he goes to make another call, his eyes alight on the cab he'd taken to Miller's to begin with.

When he locks eyes with the driver, the young man shrugs. "I figured you'd need a ride back home, at least."

"I need a ride somewhere else."

"A fare's a fare. I can call it in while we're driving, sir."

Alec's fondness for cab rides has made him a favorite among the cabbies. He never appreciated it before but does today.

* * *

He gets text updates. An officer is at the hospital. Miller's injuries aren't much more than he'd seen. SOCO shows up at Miller's house just as Alec shows up to Mayford's.

"Stay," Alec tells the cab as he steps out.

Aaron Mayford's wife answers the door. Alec doesn't even open his mouth before she's speaking. "He's working out."

Alec follows her to where Mayford powerwalks on a treadmill.

"Where's your partner?" Mayford askes as he stops the machine.

"What did you tell her this morning?"

"Hmm?"

"DS Miller. You called her this morning through the public line. What did you tell her?"

"Well, you know I like to go fishing at night." Alec scowls but lets Mayford continue. "Last night, I saw someone unlock one of the rental units by the beach. Looked like Joe Miller. Didn't sound like she believed me, though."

_Goddamnit, Miller. _They'd sent uniforms to the beach, who came back with no news. Nothing had been broken into. Which made sense, because Miller had _lied._ Mayford's tip had nothing to do with a break-in.

"Anything else?"

"Only that if it is him, I'd love to talk to him. Learn how he –"

Alec cuts him off, disgusted. "You're not talking to Joe Miller."

"So he _is_ in town then?"

Alec doesn't answer, simply storms away. He passes Mrs. Mayford and wonders, not for the first time, why she hasn't filed for a divorce. Whatever, it's not his business.

"Where now?" The cab driver asks as Alec slams the door shut behind him.

"The beach."

Alec doesn't know if he wants Joe to be there or not. He's itching to punch the man, and he'd deserve it, but worries about the future court case. He and Miller have already been accused, falsely, of an affair and had that presented as an alternate series of events at the Latimer trial. It’d been one of the reasons Joe had been declared not guilty, which indirectly had led to today. Alec refuses to do anything that could jeopardize Joe's incarceration a second time. He's a man who seems to have little regret for any of his actions; a flimsy moral code that he could break at any moment.

He doesn't want Joe to go free a second time. He doesn't know what will happen.

Had he tried to actually kill his wife? Or had it been an accident, like Danny? An attempt to hide something, something that now had live lips that could expose it. Would he go after Tom or Fred? Would he linger in Broadchurch, or vanish again? Would his action and presence haunt Miller forever, now more noticeably after it had faded over the course of five years?

He knows Millar had taken time off, gotten therapy, after the Latimer case. Would she need to now?

Alec would let her. Of course, he would.

But what he thinks she really needs, what the town needs, is Joe properly behind bars.

Which means no barging into the rental unit. No punching Joe in the face. Perhaps staying away from the case entirely, if he didn’t think he could control his actions.

_Get Joe to the station,_ he tells himself, waiting for a pair of uniforms to show up at the collection of mobile homes off the beach. _Then go to Miller._

The uniforms who show up are serious, procedural. Alec's not surprised word has gotten around – Joe in town, Miller attacked – and it seems everyone is hyper-aware of what could go wrong. There might have not been a big case in two years, and the Latimer case is even older, but the lessons learned from it had been engraved into the concrete at the station.

Do your job, and do it in a way that means the prosecutor can do theirs too.

They don't know which one Joe is renting, they've made inquiries but haven't gotten results yet. Not all are locally owned, and it's getting on in the evening. Nine o'clock. Alec wouldn't be surprised if some owners haven't gotten their requests for records yet. They'll have to go door to door.

There's seven rental units. Alec knocks on each one, identification ready, while the uniforms peek into windows. Four are empty, one is being used as a cheap couple's getaway that Alec suspects might actually be an affair but that's not his problem. Two are at the moment unoccupied, but the status of items inside suggest the renters could be back any moment.

Alec orders the uniforms to break down both doors.

The second unit reveals itself to be Joe's. There's a company badge, and while the name is Steve the photo is Joe. The bed is unmade, there are clothes tossed on a chair, a cold tea in the kitchen. It's been maybe an hour since Alec's phone had rang with Miller's call, but he's not sure Joe returned here since he left earlier that day.

Did he grab a taxi and flee, leaving what looks to be stuff from work behind? Or was he still in town?

"Bag it all," Alec says, sniffing at the tight space.

None of it is evidence, but it feels good to watch Joe's belongings shoved into bags. Things to add to a case file, things to keep from Joe. Even if the uniforms are bagging Joe's least favorite shirt, Alec feels a little better knowing it's something the other man will never see again. One little way he can get back at him.

It's petty, Alec will admit that, but he can't do anything else right now. Not until Joe's found.

* * *

_Don't wait up for me,_ Alec texts Daisy. It's almost ten now, she'll be thinking about bed in an hour to get ready for school. But Alec's own brain is still wired, wanting to fight even as he lacks a target. Sleep is hours off yet, and it won't come until he sees Miller.

It's past visiting hours at the hospital, but they let him in anyway. Cop business supersedes anything but surgery, and Miller, he knows, is doing nothing but sleeping. The look in the nurses eyes however, doe-like and mooning, makes him think they know he's not here for official reasons.

Miller had visited him plenty of times in this hospital, and now it's his turn. Late at night. Because he absolutely _needs_ to know she's okay.

The officer at the entrance to her room nods at Alec. "DI Hardy, sir." She extends a hand and in it is Miller's phone. "Someone brought it a bit ago from the house, for when she woke up. People keep texting."

As if on cue, the phone vibrates as it goes from the officer's hand to Alec's. The lock screen displays Beth Latimer's name. God, she and Miller are best friends, and they lived close enough where Beth would have noticed the ambulance. Alec wonders, bitterly, if Miller had told her about Joe being in town instead of Alec.

It stings. Alec had the higher capacity to help.

"Thanks," he says, pocketing the phone and slipping into Miller's room.

She looks, better, Alec supposes but that could just be the lack of blood on her face. He can see stitches on her forehead, an IV line in her arm. She's pale, but breathing well, not that it makes a difference. Two head injuries in a short period of time can have a myriad range of effects. He wants to find a doctor and ask a lot of questions.

Instead, he slips his hand into his pocket. He pulls out her phone, placing it on the stand next to her bed. He also pulls out a package of raisins. He's not sure where to put it, but he knows he wants her to notice it when she wakes. After a moment of decision, he slips the raisins under her left hand and curls her unresponsive fingers as much as he can around the boxes.

Then, before he can question his own actions, he takes the chair next to the bed and covers her right hand with his own.

He doesn't know what to do, right now, like this, for Miller. He's been taking his cues on dealing with people from the still woman in the bed, and they only thing she's brought him have been grapes. They weren't in season now, so the raisins would have to do, but they also feel ineffective. He had never seen Miller eat grapes or raisins. Did she like them?

He wants Miller to wake up. He wants to see her blink her eyelashes, ask him in a rough voice what happened, why is he here. He wants to yell at her for not telling him Joe was in town, wants her to apologize and say, yes, she should have. He wants to know what he had done, to prevent her from doing so. He wants to tell her he is so, so happy she didn't end up like Danny. That she was smart to send her family away, to call Alec on her phone.

He wants her to be okay, and he wants her to know he'll gladly help her get there even if he doesn't know how.

He tries to think of what Miller would do in this position. She'd be here. Sitting in the chair. Probably cursing him for getting himself injured. He doesn't want to do that though. He wants, strangely, to pray.

_Be okay, be okay, be okay._

Instead, he wonders, what would he do for Daisy? For his lovely daughter who already knows he'd do anything for her. That he cares for her physical and mental well-being. If it was her in the bed, how would he behave?

Slowly, uncertain, he brushes his thumb over the back of Millar's hand.

She doesn't move, doesn't even notice it, but something in Alec loosens. Relaxes. He does it again, scooting his chair closer, and readjusting his grip so it's more secure and his thumb brushes can trail across more skin.

_Know I'm here,_ he wishes. _You're not alone. I'm here._ _All you have to do is ask._

He lulls himself into a trance for five minutes, matching his breath and touch to the rise and fall of Miller's chest, until the harsh vibration of Miller's phone pulls him out of it. It's a text from an unknown number and it's short enough for the entire message to show up in the preview. _Sorry._

Hissing, Alec grabs for it. Miller's got her phone locked, but he gently maneuvers it and Miller’s hand so he can use her thumbprint to unlock it. He goes straight for the new message.

It's not the only one from the number, but today is the first time they've ever texted. _Sorrys_ and _Are you okays_ and one _I didn't mean to._

Joe.

Alec's blood goes cold.

The phone buzzes again with another message. _Let's try talking again. I promise, it'll go better. _

He wants to text back something scathing and assuredly in the negative, but it's not his place. Still, he wants Joe nowhere _near_ Miller. He contemplates deleting the whole string of messages when the uniform outside knocks on the door and pokes her head in the room.

"You okay on your own, sir? It's just, now that you're here, I'd like a small break. Food, restroom, that sort of thing."

He flops a hand in her direction. "Yes. I'm fine."

Daisy would hate it if she found out her dad had looked through her phone and he can imagine Miller being just as furious, but he doesn't know how to mark them as unread.

"Sorry, Miller," he whispers out loud as he rests the phone on his thigh to monitor any future communication from Joe. "But those texts are evidence now, and I needed to know… needed to know what he said. If he felt guilty. If he might do something again. I want to protect you."

He's wanted to protect a lot of people in his life, but something about this declaration reminds him of the first time he held Daisy. Of when he made the calculated decision to sacrifice his career for Tess's.

"Ah, fuck," he says, hand once again reaching out to hold Miller's. He'd gone and fallen in love with a lower-ranking co-worker, _again,_ and he had no idea.

Miller probably doesn't either, at least. Alec just had his own emotions to deal with. He could confess, he could hide them, he could hope they'd pass. They probably wouldn't though, as he looks at the past two years with a new light. Bloody hell, she was the whole reason he and Daisy had moved out here, wasn't it? The reason Broadchurch has transformed from penance to redemption to a fresh start to home.

Ellie. Bloody. Miller.

He knows what to do with this even less then he knew what to do when he first walked into the hospital. He is a bloody mess. No reason for Miller to know though. Not, not yet at least, even as he realized that one day, and one day soon, he wants her to know.

Joe… complicates things. That should be done first. But Alec's divorced now. Miller will be too. And Alec likes the idea of holding her hand, touching her skin, every single day.

The door to the room opens and Alec turns towards it, expecting the officer.

It's not.

It's Joe.

Instantly, Alec's on his feet. He plants himself between Miller and the door, between Millar and Joe, and bares his teeth.

"What are you doing here?"

"I, she hasn't answered my texts. I wanted… wanted to-"

"Finish the job?"

"No!"

"Stop her from talking, like you did with Danny?"

"Don't put words in my mouth." Joe points a finger at Alec, transforming from a concerned husband to a guarded man. "This doesn't concern you, Hardy. It's between me and my wife."

"You committed assault tonight. I'm leading the case. This is my concern."

"Ellie wouldn't file that charge, she loves me." Even as Joe says it, he looks uncertain. His eyes flicker to Miller in the bed, still unconscious.

"Did, once upon a time," Alec admits. "That changed the day you killed Danny Latimer."

"Love comes and goes. She could love me again. We don't have to get a divorce."

Something clicks in Alec's head – the packet of paper on Miller's bed in her house. She'd presented the papers to Joe, Joe didn't like that, and so he attacked her.

"You put her in _hospital,_" Alec snarls. "What makes you think she'll love a man that will do that? She's a smart woman. She'll never tie herself to you. In fact, she's eager to rid herself of you."

"And replace me with you?"

Ah, he'd probably seen Alec holding her hand. "Only if she wants. But it would be her choice. And if she said no, I wouldn't gouge out her cheek."

Joe looks at Miller, at the nail marks in her checks now scabbed over. The stitches. The paleness. How their raised voices fail to make her stir.

Alec presses. "You see what you did? Is that what a man who loves does? Hurts his wife? Gives her a concussion, forces her into a coma? Can't really love you if she's unconscious, can she?"

"I didn't hurt her that bad," Joe's voice shakes.

"You did!" Alec steps aside, only to let Joe get a good look at the hospital bed. "She said no, right? Stop? Fought back? Told you what she wanted and you ignored it all. You don't really love her, Joe. Do you?"

"I do, Hardy. Maybe you gave up your wife, but I won't give up mine."

Alec steps between them again. "Yes. You will. You hurt her. She'll never feel safe near you again. Not that she ever has, these past five years. Always scared you'd show up and hurt her or the boys. If you actually love her, you'd give her the life _she _wants. The one without _you._"

Joe snarls and Alec thinks he's going to run and tackle him. Alec plants his feet, he doesn't want to fall onto the bed, fall on to Miller, when the door to the hospital room opens. It's the officer, back from her break, and her reaction to their face-off is faster than the men's to her appearance. She bolts forward and tackles Joe, the fall sounding painful.

Joe tries to buck her off, but Alec's already there, pinning his legs. In seconds, the officer has Joe's arms behind his back and Alec hands her his cuffs. They click delightfully around Joe's arms.

At this point, the commotion has drawn hospital staff, the late-night crew of doctors and nurses. They rubberneck. Alec wants to shoo them away, but he locks eyes with the doctor to let him know he has questions.

"Up," the officer barks, hauling Joe to his feet.

It makes Alec feel satisfied, relieved, to see Joe walked out of the room while the officer states his rights. He knows, logically, he should follow. The officer can't watch Joe in the car and drive to the station, but all he wants to do is turn to Miller and whisper _you're safe, you're safe_ into her ear. Talk to the doctor, get an update.

He looks over his shoulder, watches Miller takes a breath, and realize he does, indeed, need to take Joe to the station. He's gone now, but he needs to make sure he can't come back.

He trails after the officer pushing Joe before her, and the doctor falls into step beside Alec.

"I'm her DI," Alec says, "Tell me about DS Miller's condition."

The doctor flicks his eyes towards Joe, uncertain.

"He's her husband and person who hit her. He can, and should hear this."

The doctor nods and starts listing Miller's injuries.

Bruised wrists, cuts on her cheeks. The blow to her temple had been severe enough to fracture her skull and combined with her previous injury to the back of the head, there's bleeding in her brain. Not enough for surgery, not yet, but they're keeping an eye on it. There are consequences, of course, depending on how bad the brain damage. She could simply lose chunks of her memory, or lose the ability to lift her right arm. They wouldn't know until she woke, and that hasn't happened yet.

Each word makes Alec puff up with anger and clench his fists, but it has the opposite effect on Joe. He hunches his shoulders, curls in on himself, and Alec believes he finally gets it. He's lost his family, because of his own actions.

"I'll be back," Alec tells the doctor, who frowns but nods anyway. Then Alec slips into the car beside Joe and the officer drives them to the station.

He spends the fifteen-minute trip glaring holes in the side of Joe's face. Joe stares at his knees. He only speaks once Alec shoves him none-to-gently into a cell.

"The divorce papers Ellie had drawn up. If you bring them, I'll sign them.” Joe sounds defeated. Alec likes the sound of it.

"I'll bring them tomorrow."

Alec goes back to the hospital and holds Miller's hand through the night.


	3. Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie wakes up.

When Ellie wakes up, the confusion is so strong she has to categorize things. The light is bright, so she closes her eyes and just feels it on her skin. Not sunlight. There's no movement to the air either. She's indoors. There's a weight on her chest. Heavy and sprawling, centered on her right breast but moving down to her hips, up to her left shoulder. It a warm weight, and soft. Concentrating on it, mapping all the spots where it meets her body, she realizes it's vaguely human-shaped.

Using all her energy, she turns her head and feels the soft exhale of breath.

_Fred,_ Ellie thinks. _Fred's come to snuggle. Was there a thunderstorm last night?_

She can't recall.

Ellie goes back to categorizing. Light from a bulb. No breeze, so no open windows. Fred on her chest. The burning in her nose is startling though. She doesn't remember cleaning the house yesterday, despite the chemical taste in the back of her throat.

She probably forgot.

No, she wouldn't use so much that the smell lingered overnight.

Forcing herself to look for more clues to place her, Ellie wrenches open her eyes.

There's David, sitting on a chair next to her. A big window behind him looking to a grey morning.

Not her bedroom then.

Where she is instead, she doesn't quite care to figure out at the moment. She sleeps instead.

* * *

"Mum?"

Ellie forces herself to wake up fast. Tom wouldn't disturb her sleep for trivial matters.

The light's bright, there's a scent in the air that makes her nauseous, but she still wakes up for her son.

"Yeah, Tom?" she mumbles, eyes open to slits.

"Oh," Tom sobs, and there's suddenly a weight over her chest and shoulders as Tom leans into to hug her while she's still in bed.

Ellie lifts an arm to pat his back. "It's okay, baby."

"It's not! Dad, Dad, he almost killed you."

"What?"

Ellie's awareness of her location snaps into place – hospital. But there's nothing in her memories about why she's there. What happened, who happened.

"Joe was here?"

Tom pulls away, wiping at his eyes. "The doctor said you might not remember, but yeah. I'm so glad you woke up, Mum. We were worried. Don't go anywhere, kay? I'll let someone know you're awake."

He gives her a brief hug and steps outside the room, leaving Ellie frantically trying to figure out what happened. Trying to remember if Joe still posed a threat. There's no officer outside the door, so maybe not, and… is that a set of raisin boxes next to the bed? Immediately she thinks of Hardy, if only because normal people would get her flowers.

As if summoning the devil, Hardy walks in with Tom and the doctor. He looks unkempt, which makes Ellie frown. Is he on a case without her? Is it Joe? She glares at him, searching for answers.

"Did you not like the raisins?" he asks.

Ellie laughs. "I figured they were from you. But it's not that, you look like shit. What's happened?"

"Later, Miller."

His voice sounds weird, saying her name. She realizes it’s cuz he hadn’t said the ‘M’, instead saying Elli-r. Ellie shakes her head, she must be hearing things wrong. The motion makes the room spin.

“Miller?” Hardy asks. It sounds normal again.

"Fine, sir."

"How are you feeling, Ellie?" the doctor asks, and so begins a series of tests and explanations of what had happened. Joe _had_ come, to the house, and when Ellie told him to sign divorce papers he refused and things turned violent. She'd managed to call Hardy, who in turn called an ambulance, and the police captured Joe later that night. He is awaiting trial for assault and battery.

Some of her injuries, her wrists and her face, are halfway healed after being asleep for five days. Her two blows to the head, including the skull fracture that had eventually required surgery to drain the slow seepage of blood into her brain, resulted in a few side effects the doctor noted after tests. Light sensitivity. A disrupted sense of balance, discovered when Ellie tried to sit up. Memory loss, that encompassed not just the day of the attack but the entire week. And when she'd been instructed to walk across the room, she found the task difficult because her legs kept wobbling. A result of her poor balance, or damage in the connection between her legs and brain, the doctor couldn't pinpoint. He also couldn't say if any of the effects would fade or stay permanent.

"Time will tell," the doctor gives Ellie an apologetic shrug from the other side of the room. Ellie, leaning on Tom for support from the other side of it, scowls at him.

"I'm recommending physical therapy," the doctor continues. "I should help with your balance and walking. Sessions twice a week."

"When can I go back to work?"

"We'll see, Miller."

She scowls at Hardy. "I wasn't asking you, sir."

"It'll depend on the therapy," the doctor says. His face is blank and Ellie catches what he's not saying. _It'll depend on if you ever recover._

A detective who can't walk, or keep her balance? Who'd wince into the noon sun? She'd be forced to retire. She's too young for that.

Tom helps her back across the room and into bed. She sinks into the mattress, glad for the stability of the bed beneath her.

"Give us a moment?" Hardy asks.

The doctor nods, but Tom looks unsure, gaze flicking between Ellie and Hardy. She can tell he wants to stay, she's scared him, but Ellie's desire to be something more than a body in a bed, especially now that she's awake, is rising. She's not someone to be coddled. She can get an update from her boss, and in twenty minutes Tom can come in and bring his grandfather and brother.

"Go on, love," Ellie tells Tom. "Find the rest of the bunch and come back in a bit."

Once it's just the two of them in the room, Hardy surprises her by sitting in the chair next to the bed. He leans forward, reaching out a hand, and Ellie watches it till it rests on the bed next to her own. When she gives him a questioning look, he turns away and pulls his hands back.

"You gonna tell me why you look like shit?"

"You do too."

"I have an excuse. What's yours?"

"The same – Joe."

"What's he doing?"

"Nothing, actually. I don't think you can give a statement-"

"Don't remember a thing – "

"But we might not need it. He's confessed. To several crimes, actually. Breaking into your house, assaulting you, and then sneaking into the hospital to see you."

"He did _what?"_

"We had an officer on the door. And I was here. We took him to the station and he's been there since. Your statement isn't necessary to charge him, but we want the medical records. If that's okay."

"If it puts the bastard behind bars, do it."

"Done." He gives her a shark grin Ellie hadn't thought him capable of. She's not sure she likes it, she prefers his soft, open face when they tell a victim they've caught the bad guy.

Bad guys, in Ellie's experience, are rarely rotten all the way through. They have family, community, and often connections to those they hurt. Catching them is also not the end of the problem, it's often the beginning. Arresting the perpetrator can give Ellie a rush of joy, of righteousness, but usually it's a quieter emotion in the cocktail of post-caseness. Relief that the criminal is off the street, that the victim can move on is more likely to take center stage. Satisfaction of a job well done. Sometimes dread, because the nightmares only hit after the case ends.

She feels anger in some capacity for all the cases she's worked these past five years and knows Hardy does too. But this glimpse of glee at someone's punishment she sees in his face is new. Ellie isn't sure she likes it.

"There's also this." Hardy pulls out a small leather satchel she's never seen him carry. He opens it and pulls out a familiar manila envelope.

She reaches out her hands. "You got Joe to sign it? It's not going to affect the court case, will it?"

Hardy shakes his head. "He did it of his own free will. Asked for it even. When he snuck in here, saw what he did, I think he realized divorce was the right choice. I don't think he even read the terms."

He places the packet of paper in Ellie's hands. Their fingertips brush, a jolt of contact she didn't expect, but more than that the papers capture her attention. She brings the packet to her lap, trails her fingers over it, before carefully undoing the string that ties it closed. Ellie pulls them all out together but quickly flips to all the pages she's marked with a paperclip.

Joe's signature is stark on the paperwork. A deep navy blue. Her hands tremble as she looks at it.

Hardy's hand covers her own.

Ellie jumps and stares at him, wide-eyed. He's moved the chair closer too.

They don't touch. It's not a rule, per say, and it's not like they haven't bumped shoulders or fingers over the years. But all physical contact, aside from handshakes, between them have been accidental. She feels awkward, giving Hardy anything else. It's not appropriate. And the idea of receiving anything, well, she'd long ago dismissed as something that shouldn't happen. Women detectives can't be seen as soft and being seen crying or in need of comfort in any manner would have harmed her career as a DC.

She doesn't want comfort from anyone at the station, least of all her boss. It ruins her image, and she's been doing fine on her own anyway.

It doesn't change the fact that she likes the heavy warmth of his hand on hers. Or that it feels familiar.

He also looks very used to sitting in that chair.

She pulls her hand away and narrows her eyes at him. "Have you been-"

"Mum!"

Fred's squeal has Hardy pulling back, but not a whole lot. The chair stays put, his hand is in his lap, but he doesn't look embarrassed. Doesn't try to hide his action.

"Fred!" Ellie puts the divorce papers down and opens her arms. Her youngest son climbs into the bed with her, planting kisses on her face, and while she's preoccupied with that the arrangement in the hospital room shifts. When Fred settles next to her, it's her father that's in the chair next to the bed, Tom standing next to him, and Hardy standing just behind it. They're all standing a little too close for people who are essentially strangers, and Ellie wonders just what has happened in the past five days she's been asleep.

"Is that the divorce papers?" Tom asks.

"Yeah."

"Can I see?"

"Sure." She gathers them and hands them over. If he's asking, he's old enough to get answers in Ellie's book. If he has questions, he'll ask and she'll answer. The terms aren't severe, but she does wonder if some of them, child support in particular, is an option once Joe is in jail.

"Are you changing your name back?" David asks.

"First chance I get," Ellie tells her father. Ellie Barret sounds weird in her mind after so long being a Miller, but she's eager to shed Joe's name.

"Us too?" Tom asks. "Can I switch from Miller to Barret?"

"If you want."

"Barret doesn't roll off the tongue quite like Miller," Hardy says.

It's true. She's gotten used to, and perhaps even come to love hearing that Scottish ending 'R' in relationship to herself.

"Most people call her Ellie."

She chokes at David's cheek. It's true, most people do call her Ellie. She told Hardy himself to call her that when they first meet. But "Miller" has become the norm at the station now, and Ellie has to admit it does sound a touch more professional. Even if most people in town still use her first name. Yet having Hardy call her "Ellie" feels too personal. And too presumptuous on her father's part.

"You can only call me Ellie if I call you Alec."

She delivers the option with snark, fully anticipating Hardy to scrunch up his nose and object. Except, he doesn't.

"Deal."

She gapes at him, wants to take the offer back, but David speaks first. "There. Decided. It's about time you use first names. You've known each other five years."

"Not in the office, though," Ellie quickly throws out. She's worked hard to be a DS, and she doesn't need tongue wagging when her first day back Hardy calls her Ellie instead of Miller. "Barret is better."

"Okay," Hardy agrees.

There's something in his tone, something placating and accommodating she's not sure she would like if she could pinpoint it. But now is not the time to pursue it. Fred demands to listen to her heartbeat, Tom's got a question on the divorce papers, David snatches her hand to hold it, and Hardy has her medical records to input into evidence and Joe's transfer from jail to prison to oversee.

But something's going on with her boss and once her head feels a little more solid she'll give some attention to figuring it out. In the meantime, she'll hold on to what she has right now. Life, family, and freedom from Joe.

* * *

"Why don't you ask Alec to help?" Tom asks as Ellie stares at a pile of boxes.

"I'm not asking my boss to help us move."

"I'll do it."

"Tom, no. It's not worth it."

"He'll do it, you know. Help."

"Yeah, probably."

There is something going on, between her family and Alec Hardy. She hasn't put all her attention toward figuring it out yet. Other things had taken priority. Physical therapy, for one, and her reintroduction to work. She is confined to a desk, but she's useful and coordinating which makes her feel better. There's also been the matter of moving.

She hadn't been able to sleep in her bed, her first day home.

The bedroom had first been _theirs,_ and when Joe had ruined them she turned the room into _hers._ Joe had ruined that too. Ellie found herself nervous in the space, it was too small, too easy to be trapped it, and despite doing all she could to make the room, the _house_ a sanctuary for her and the kids, Joe had walked right in and nearly destroyed it all.

It didn't feel safe. It felt like a thing Joe broke. So it was time to move. Still in Broadchurch, but across town. Closer to the water. She needs a different view than she'd had before.

Thus, the upcoming moving day. A decision that results in lots of tossing, lots of packing, and a re-evaluation of her decision to move them herself. Mark and Beth had promised to help, but Mark had caught the flu and Beth by herself wouldn't be enough.

"Call Alec, Mum."

_Call Alec, call Alec, call Alec._ Either her son or her father makes the suggestion frequently, and she's not sure why. They have actual friends in Broadchurch, others who are more appropriate beach partners or barbeque assistants or second opinions on houses. There are other acquaintances that can come over, but three times in the last month David has called and invited Hardy and Daisy to dinner without Ellie knowing. And once, when Tom shly asked if he could invite Daisy to the weekly Latimer-Barret dinner, her father had come along too.

Beth had raised an eyebrow at that, but who was Ellie to tell her son it was wrong to crush on an older girl. Plus, Daisy bringing her father prevented him from moping about at home.

"I don't want to call Hardy," Ellie snaps. "Why do you and your grandfather always insist I call him. It's not proper to ask your boss to help you move."

"It's him or movers." Tom crosses his arms. He looks so adult it hurts, and Ellie knows it's because of Joe. Joe used to take care of the family and while David had moved in eventually to help, Tom had done a lot in that first year. The thing he still clings to is looking out for his mum. "You can't drive yet, doctor's orders, and you can't tell me you honestly think you're capable of moving all these boxes yourself."

She pouts. She doesn't like this role reversal, never has, she's supposed to look after Tom, but her son shares her stubbornness. He and Hardy together are hyper-villigant about her health, Tom at home and Hardy in the office. Tom makes sure she does her exercises and used to monitor her medication while she took them. Hardy is constantly checking her energy levels, bringing her tea, and sneakily installed a program on her computer to reduce eyestrain.

Some days, she feels cared for and loved. Most, she feels a strong desire for personal space and independence. She doesn't need men checking up on her, she can manage herself just fine. Tom's hovering she has a better chance of forgiving because she understands – you look out for family. She doesn't know why Hardy has become so attentive.

In this case, she knows Tom is right. Her balance is mostly back, but it can suddenly disappear and her left leg has a habit of going wobbly every so often. Her brain just turns the connection off. Forgets it's there. It's getting better, less frequent, but early on she'd fallen down the stairs a few times when it had given out. It's a miracle the only thing that came of those falls was bruises and a sore tailbone.

Their new house has two bedrooms on the first floor, Ellie's and David's. It made her feel like an invalid and old, not being able to have a bedroom on the second story, but she might be the former and she'd be the latter eventually.

She hates thinking about it, but she must. Without the help of Mark, she knows she physically cannot rely on herself to get everything she needs to be done.

Ellie dials Hardy and asks if he's free to help. He says yes before she's finished asking.

* * *

In the office, Hardy is always Hardy or Sir or DI Hardy. In Ellie's head, he's Hardy too. But her son and father call him Alec, and sometimes she can't help but see him that way too.

Alec is different from Hardy. He's still well dressed, still serious, but he doesn't wear suits. He kisses Daisy's head and shakes Tom's hand. He _helps_, in small ways, as if he's not sure of his boundaries or if he's doing something right. Hardy barks at her to think, Alec knows where her spoons are in the kitchen.

It's Alec that shows up, in the oldest clothes Ellie has ever seen him wear. Jeans with frayed cuffs, a tee with a faded blue pattern, a zipped hoodie she's never seen before but has paint stains on it. He looks ready to do physical labor and the idea jolts her. She's never actually seen him do anything strenuous. At the office the most weight he'll move is a tall stack of paper. She's only seen him run after suspects, and then she's running too. He only walks the beach for clues.

Seeing him like this is…unnatural.

"You look odd."

Alec looks down at his clothing. "Don't fit right. Borrowed 'em from a neighbor."

"Why would you do that?"

"I couldn't help you move in a suit now, could it?"

"I wouldn't stop you." She steps aside and Alec walks in. She pays attention to his movements. He still walks like he's in nice clothing, but the common wear hides the shape of his shoulders and the taper to his waist.

Ellie blinks. She's not going to analyze how these clothes fit her boss. The important part is that he can lift things in them.

"Thanks again for helping."

"I'll always help you, Ellie."

Hearing Alec say her first name doesn't startle her anymore, she's grown used to it. She hasn't grown used to the new helpfulness he's displayed since Joe attacked her.

Admittedly, they'd been approaching friendship. Getting to know one another, looking out for each other's well-being. Her days in the hospital, however, resulted in Hardy barreling through the steps of friendship, ripping apart the ropes lining the course into uncharted territory. Where they are now, she's not sure. Where they're going is even more uncertain, though everyone around her seems to have an idea.

"Morning!" Beth calls as she approaches the house.

Hardy slips away upstairs and Ellie greets her friend.

"Who was that?"

"Alec."

"In _normal clothes?"_

Ellie laughs. "Suits aren't proper for moving day."

Beth gives her a look, demanding more information.

"Well, Mark's sick. I had to call someone."

"And you call him."

Ellie shrugs.

There's more to it, she thinks, than Alec having already learned her house. David encourages her to call Alec. Tom encourages her to call Alec. Tom _likes _Alec. And when she called asking for last-minute help, Alec came.

She doesn't have the mental capacity to analyze that right now.

David holds doors and tells them how to pack the lorry. Alec and Tom work carrying out the larger pieces of furniture. Beth and Ellie take the boxes, though Ellie moves more slowly and Beth insists on taking the heavier ones. Help comes and goes: a neighbor with a free hour, passing uniforms helping Alec with large items like beds. It's Broadchurch. Everyone has their own lives, but everyone has some awareness of everyone else's too. Most know Ellie had been attacked by her soon to be ex-husband and that it damaged her brain. They try to help in the small ways she allows them. Help with three heavy boxes of crockery is the type she allows.

When her left leg starts to feel funny, Beth has her sit in one of the chairs not loaded and goes to ask the neighbors for a glass of water. It gives her a prime view of Hardy walking down the stairs carrying an end table. He's got it gripped on both sides and held in front of him, like a heavy laundry basket. He stares down, watching his feet on the stairs, and part of his hair flops against his temple.

Ellie has seen Alec Hardy many ways. In a suit in the office, in a sheet at the hospital, in cashmere sweaters and dark jeans. But he's still been DI Hardy. Her boss first and foremost, and then secondarily a friend.

He looks different like this, dressed in clothes that aren't his. Clothes meant for this. Not dining or working, but living. He feels more approachable, closer, dressed like and doing manual labor in her house. She wonders what it would feel like, to brush that stray bit of hair away.

Beth returning breaks her out of her thoughts.

"If you invited him to dinner at a restaurant, instead of at your house all the time, he'd say yes you know."

Ellie chokes on her water.

"Do you not want to?" Beth asks.

Ellie frowns. "I don't know. I haven't… I've been focused on…"

"Other things," Beth finishes, sitting in a chair.

They'd talked about it, before. How Beth and Mark almost got a divorce, but changed their minds before it got finalized. When things like Danny happen, when trauma hits you hard and in the heart, you can't always think of others. You think of you first. Your needs.

For a while, Beth and Mark had had different ones. They still do, but they had recentered themselves and realized they once again had the capacity to turn attention to someone else's needs, to work on their marriage properly.

Ellie? Well, she'd taken a long, long time to recenter herself. Tom and Fred came first, and then work. Therapy had helped, but she hadn't anticipated how long it would take to get through the anger. More than two years. She had finally thought, _maybe I could look, think about someone else,_ when Joe's first check arrived.

She hadn't had the time to revisit the thought till now, with Joe in jail and Alec…

Alec standing frozen on the stairs, looking at her, while she looked back and just how long had that been happening??

She pulled her gaze away and swallowed a too-large gulp of water. Beth laughed, pounding her back.

"If you don't ask him on a date in a month," Beth warns, "I'm locking you in a closet."

* * *

As Ellie couldn't drive, nor could Tom, David drove himself, Beth, and Tom in Ellie's beat-up car while Alec drove the lorry to the new house. Ellie sat beside him, giving directions.

"Your leg okay?" he asked.

Ellie rubbed the heel of her hand down the thigh. "Yeah, I sat before it went numb."

It'd gone wobbly at the station a few times, walking from the kitchen or into Hardy's office.

She has a sudden sense memory of Alec's grip under both her elbows the first time it wobbled in his office. Ellie hadn't realized he could move so fast, out from his seat and around the desk in the half-second she'd started to fall. His hands had been warm. Supportive. And then she'd forgotten it all as he'd started chastising her for not using the cane the doctor had given her.

But the memory comes back to her now. Not just his sure grip, but his rush to help her. Set her down. The concern in his eyes. It'd been there a lot, recently, but it didn't bother her as much as she expected it to. Probably because, as concerned as Alec might be, he hadn't done what she'd feared – isolate her and wrap her in protection.

She still worked at the office, even if it was only at her desk, and she had a suspicion Hardy was the reason for that. He asked if she needed to sit, not directed her too. Didn't try to get her off her feet while she made dinner, hadn't taken boxes out of her hands.

Hardy is her boss, Alec is her friend, and it hadn't felt right to think of either side of him as anything more than that. But now, after that shared gaze of undetermined time earlier, she can't help but wonder.

It's not Alec's looks that stick in her head. Sure, he's good looking. But he's gruff. A knob. Difficult to be with on most days. But not today. Not most days for the past few months, now that she thinks about it.

He's a man who might not know how to meet Ellie's needs, but he tries. He's the one bringing her tea, more often than not, at the office. They buy each other lunch at equal rates. They don't talk about emotions, but they recognize them, and when there's something that needs to be done they can count on each other.

It's already a partnership, a relationship, she realizes. It just needs to move. It's gone from office to dining room to kitchen. Could it take one more step into a bedroom?

Ellie tries to be subtle and looks at Alec out of the corner of her eye. She's not sure she succeeds. Slowly, she's realizing that last threshold is something a lot of people are expecting them to cross. Beth, her father, even Tom.

The most important person to ask is herself.

Honestly, Ellie's not sure. Would it be days like this, Alec in loose-fitting clothes and moving through a house? Or would it be days lost to the office, swallowed up by a case on their desk and the dining room table? Perhaps the neighborly get-togethers; Barrets and Latimers and Hardys all around a table and laughing. Maybe all three. Maybe none.

She thinks, one day, she wants to find out.

Not today. Her head is full of moving, of where to place her furniture and how to wash away Joe for the second time in her life. She needs her leg to work all the time. She needs to drive again, work again. But after that? After her life is where she wants it to be? The day that happens, she thinks she'll make that invite. Ask Hardy if he'd like to eat out, just the two of them. Do it proper, like a real date, so they both understand and don't think of it as an alternative to the dinners they already have.

"What are you thinking about, Ellie?" Alec asks.

A lot of things. How she suddenly likes hearing him say her name. Beth's sly smile, David's grin, Tom's about-time sigh. Potential reactions, potential days.

"The day my brain's better," she answers.

"Have plans for then, eh?"

"Some. If the course stays true."

"And which course is that?"

Feeling bold, she covers his hand on the gear shaft.

Ellie wants him to know she notices him. Notices what he does for her, what he does _to_ her. She feels seen, and in control, and _listened to_ with Alec. He puts her needs first, not his own life desires, and being first in someone's life is…well, scary might be the term. Certainly new, because Joe had never done that. Not really.

Alec lets go of the gear shaft to lace their fingers together. "Ellie?"

She squeezes his hand gently. "My brain's resetting, literally and figuratively, but when it's done, I'll let you know. And then..."

"Then what?"

"I'll have several questions I'll want you to answer."

"I can answer some now."

Ellie gets the sense she could ask anything she wanted, from _what's your favorite color _to _how did you fall in love with Tess _to _do you love me?_ But she doesn't want those answers, not _now_ at least. She wants to learn them while walking down a beach, or over candle-lit pasta. But she supposes she can ask one question now.

"What's your favorite restaurant in town?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said on Tumblr there'd be kissing, so sorry. It didn't actually happen. But I hope you like this regardless! Thanks everyone for reading. ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> I live on [Tumblr as Uniasus](uniasus.tumblr.com) if you wanna come say hi, ask questions, or just wait eagerly for fic snippets.


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